


Operation Pest Control

by Myrime



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2012 avengers, Bets & Wagers, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post-Avengers (2012), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Getting his eyebrows singed off once is not enough for Clint and he keeps trying to get into the workshop. Tony has fun thwarting his attempts. Naturally, they turn it into a war.





	Operation Pest Control

**Author's Note:**

> Last one for the [Iron Man Bingo 2019 Round 2](https://iron-man-bingo.tumblr.com/), square: Tony vs Air duct climbing!Clint.  
I actually managed a full blackout...
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony stumbles into the kitchen long after dinner is over, mind still mostly focused on the new repulsors but in dire need of new coffee. He is almost at the machine when he notices that he is not alone in the room. Sitting rather sullenly in his usual seat is Clint, arms crossed in front of him, glaring at Tony as if he has eaten the last piece of pizza out of the fridge.

A smile tugs on Tony’s lips. He fights against it for all of three seconds before he lets it spread, feels it turn into a smirk.

“What happened to your eyebrows, birdbrain?” he asks, decidedly nonchalant.

He knows. Of course, he does. As focused on his work as he usually is, JARVIS’ intruder alarm has ripped him out of his work easily. Finding the intruder had been just as simple. Taking just Clint’s eyebrows in revenge had at least been a fun challenge. No one wants the charred remains of a SHIELD archer in their vents, so precision was the key. It is a good thing he is practised at using his fine motor skills.

“Have you ever thought about not booby-trapping your vents like a paranoid misanthropist with more money than common sense?” Clint snaps. He raises a hand up to his face and it hovers over the place where his eyebrows used to be.

Tony would not have thought Clint to be vain. Maybe his forehead is still stinging.

“Wow, you just used much bigger words than I ever gave you credit for,” Tony replies and makes the last steps over to the coffee machine. He turns his back to Clint like there is nothing to worry about. “But have you ever thought about using the hallways instead of the vents like a complete maniac?”

For a moment, the gurgling of the coffee machine is the only sound in the room, and Tony watches it trickle into his mug with a hidden smile.

“It keeps me nimble,” Clint finally says. His tone is a mixture of a challenge and a sheepish admission.

“I’m not going to deign that with an answer,” Tony says, although he has a dozen ready on his tongue.

This whole vent-crawling thing has started as a joke about Clint going from the circus to being an assassin and combining the best of two worlds. Who would ever expect death to come from an air vent, after all. Clint naturally had to prove then that he _could_ move exclusively through the vents if he wanted to. Since then, it has become a theme.

“What did you even want in the workshop?” Tony asks, picking up his filled mug.

Clint looks at him, unwilling to admit anything despite having been caught already. “I wanted to get a peek at the new bow.”

“What new bow?” Tony asks immediately, pretending not to know what Clint is talking about.

The problem with being the Avengers’ in-house mechanic is that they are constantly expecting new toys. Not always actively, but it is not a nice surprise anymore when Tony brings them new equipment. Tony _was_ working on a new bow but moved on to at least seven other, more pressing projects since then.

“The one you’re building,” Clint answers slowly, rolling his eyes for good measure. “For me.”

Grumbling, Tony thinks he might have to pick that one up again. “And how would you know about that?”

“Natasha,” Clint answers promptly.

Of course. Even when there is nothing exciting to learn, Natasha still has to dig for secrets. It is as endearing as it is annoying.

“I should have known this would happen after inviting two spies to live with me,” Tony sighs, taking a sip of his coffee. “One can’t keep her nose out of my business, and the other crawls around in places not made for humans.”

Suddenly, a grin spreads on Clint’s face as he sits up straighter. “Then why are the vents so big?” he asks, a definite challenge in his voice. “It’s almost comfortable up there.”

Because, Tony thinks miserably, he is sometimes too dedicated to a joke, and since they need to make renovations more often than not, considering how happy the Avengers as a whole are to deal out property damage, it was not actually hard to modify the vent system enough to allow comfortable passage for nimble archers.

Tony would never admit that, though. He has a reputation to uphold, and it is already mostly in shambles.

“They’re only that big on your floor and in the common areas,” he replies, realizing too late this gives too much away. “Not anywhere else.” Definitely not over the workshop.

“That sounds deliberate.” Clint’s grin grows until it looks downright indecent, smug.

“Careful,” Tony cautions and keeps his face blank, “your brain has turned on. You should use your five minutes of near-intelligence and go bother someone else.”

That is probably unfair. None of the Avengers is stupid. That would defy the whole purpose of the team. They are not meant to follow orders but to create their own solutions.

“That’s –” Clint says, ready to fall into the bickering, but then he interrupts himself. “You do have a heart underneath all that armour.”

Tony blinks. He is not sure how Clint has deducted that from Tony’s offensive commentary. It is, in any case, a dangerous assumption. For all of them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony says dismissively and turns toward the door with his mug in hand.

He is almost out of the kitchen when Clint calls after him. “Game’s on, Stark. Throw your worst at me, but I’ll get to see that bow.”

That offers a whole trove of opportunities for petty revenge and chaos-causing pranks. Tony likes the idea – even if that means he will have to put Clint’s bow on top of his work list again. He believes in his and JARVIS’ ability to keep Clint out, even with non-lethal measures, but _if_ Clint gets in, Tony should have something to show.

“If I actually threw my worst at you,” Tony drawls, looking at Clint with exaggerated boredom, “they wouldn’t even have to pick your pieces out of the vents because you’d be vaporized. Perhaps I’ll keep a little stain in loving memory.”

Clint, the maniac, laughs, despite knowing full well that Tony is telling the truth. “Then throw your non-lethal, non-maiming worst at me.”

Sighing, Tony nods. “You really take the fun out of this sport. But all right, you’re on.”

* * *

It begins simple enough.

Tony has bars appearing in random parts of the ventilation system, keeping Clint either locked out or in. Alarms blare when Clint makes even a single step towards the vents. Things go missing. All kinds of traps have to be disarmed before Clint can go on his merry way.

In return, Clint makes a game of leaving things in Tony’s rooms or the workshop. Food or broken arrowheads or Tony’s favourite blanket that went missing several weeks ago.

Tony tries to keep Clint out, while Clint tries to leave increasingly outrageous proof that he did, indeed, get in.

The only one who notices is Natasha, although both Tony and Clint make her swear not to intervene. Winning this is a matter of pride, and they have no doubt she would end this in five seconds flat – although they cannot seem to agree on in whose favour. Probably her own.

One night, Tony steps out of the workshop for five minutes for a bathroom break and a coffee refill. When he comes back, a still hot pizza is waiting on his workbench, sitting there as innocently as if Tony has brought it himself. None of the alarms has been triggered, no archer-shaped stains are left behind.

Tony sits down and, not even bothering with having JARVIS scan the pizza, eats a slice. It is good and hot and definitely not supposed to be here.

Once he is done, Tony carefully puts the workshop on complete lockdown, and goes to find Clint. He does not even have to look for long. Clint is sitting in the living room, draped over the couch as if he has not moved in hours. There is a bit of soot stuck to his temple, though, and his breathing is a little bit too even to be natural.

Building himself up in the door, Tony glares. “You did not get into the workshop,” he declares because he knows that as fact, at least.

This is still Tony’s sanctuary, still the place where he works on delicate and classified projects. No matter the game they are playing, Tony would not let Clint run rampage in the workshop, not even under JARVIS supervision. So, he knows Clint did not get in, which still leaves him without explanation for the pizza.

“I might have,” Clint counters with a grin, stretching further on the couch.

“You have not,” Tony argues with all the conviction he has. “Not a single particle of your skin.”

He just barely manages not to get closer to check Clint for burns or other signs that he has breached the invisible barrier between the vent and the workshop.

“My fingertip still hasn’t grown back from the last time I tried,” Clint mutters, staring down at his left hand with dismay.

He makes it sound more dramatic than it was. Tony has anti-thievery measures in place. It could have, potentially, taken Clint’s hand, but Clint had been very careful in sticking his fingers through the gaps of the vent, and Tony would not leave them with a one-armed archer. That would just be a waste.

“So how did you get a whole pizza on my workbench, and mostly intact at that?” Tony asks, fighting the urge to cross his arms in front of him. There is no need to feel defensive. Clint has not won yet since he has neither gotten into the workshop nor can he have glimpsed at the specs for his new bow, which Tony is keeping in an even more secure location, just in case.

“Trader’s secret.” Clint’s grin grows ever more smug, at least right until it freezes, pushed off his face by a frown. “What do you mean with _mostly intact_?

Tony opens his mouth, ready to spin a tale so he will not lose any more points to Clint. Then he shrugs. “The pepperonis were missing on one half.”

It looked deliberate enough, that it cannot be mistaken for coincidence or a mistake.

Mirth is playing in Clint’s eyes as he fights to keep his laughter in. “I got hungry.”

That implies he has been lying in wait for Tony to leave the workshop. He cannot have been there for long, though, since the pizza was still hot. None of this makes sense, but it only pushes Tony to step up his game.

“That’s –” Tony trails off, then shrugs, “not surprising.”

They share a look, full of challenge and the sweet joy of victory.

“Anyway, that’s a point for me,” Clint brags, showing too many teeth. “Perhaps you should just give up now.”

If Tony would have needed an encouragement to keep going, this would have been it. “Never,” he smiles and gets back to work.

* * *

That night, Clint’s screams echo through the tower. Bruce, who is in the workshop with Tony, freezes immediately, always expecting the worst. He does not look reassured in the least when Tony only smiles at the sound.

“What happened?” Bruce asks, already suspicious. “Why are you laughing?”

The simple answer would be that Tony has set a new trap and Clint fell into it without any delay at all. Justice served truly is the sweetest thing in the world.

“Don’t worry,” Tony says, probably causing the exact opposite, “Clint’s fine, if probably a bit cold right now.”

Before Bruce can ask any more questions, JARVIS speaks up. “Agent Barton wants to talk to you,” he announces, sounding just as smug as his creator feels.

Clapping his hands, Tony abandons their work without a second thought. “Put him through,” he orders excitedly. “Better yet, turn on the camera. I need to see this.”

Seconds later, Clint appears on the screen in front of them, big enough to show his dripping misery in all its glory. He looks like a drowned dog, hair plastered to his forehead, clothes clinging to his back. He is standing in a rapidly growing puddle, body tense to keep from shivering. The intensity of his glare in almost enough to burn Tony through the camera.

This scene, he decides, is beautiful.

“How?” Clint presses out between clenched teeth.

“How what?” Tony counters immediately, barely keeping himself from laughing out loud. He is so going to save a picture of this for later. “My, you seem a little wet,” he adds as if he has only just noticed. “I didn’t think it was raining outside – or that you ever _go_ outside like a normal human being.”

Tony has a hundred more quips ready but bites his tongue to keep himself from using them. There will be time for them later. He plans on besting Clint far more often, and while he does not think he will ever run out of witty one-liners, it does not hurt to be prepared.

“How did you manage to build in a secret door in the vents right over the exit to my room?” Clint specifies, actually trembling now, although Tony is hard-pressed to say whether it is from cold or fury. “In the two hours since I last used it?”

It definitely has not been easy, but he is a Stark. Making the impossible possible is basically his day job.

Next to him, Bruce eyes them, wide-eyed and incredulous, but with tell-tale signs of exhaustion creeping onto this face. He is definitely tired of dealing will all of their shenanigans.

“Trader’s secret,” Tony answers, tasting the perfect sweetness of this comeback. “Also, how did you know it hasn’t always been there?”

From a strategical point of view, it makes sense to have countermeasures in place against all of his fellow Avengers. Tony does not think they are going to turn against him any time soon, not without being pushed into it, but it does not make sense to give Clint nearly free roam of the tower without being able to stop him easily.

Clint’s glare grows condescending. “I heard the mechanism when I opened the door,” he explains unwillingly. “That hasn’t been there before.”

That is a flaw, Tony realizes. If the guy with hearing aids can hear his trap mechanism, Tony has not done a good enough job of it, no matter how limited his time has been and that the trap worked beautifully nonetheless.

“Aren’t you attentive,” Tony drawls, mentally redesigning the whole thing. If he does not, chances are Clint will not fall for it again if it is needed at a later time.

Taking a step forward, Clint’s image grows on the screen. Tony can see goosebumps on the archer’s arms.

“There were ice cubes in there,” Clint says, voice full of accusation.

Tony hums and bites his cheek to not lose it right here. “Well, you’ve been so excited earlier, that I thought you might need to cool down a bit.”

It is Clint’s own fault, really. He challenged Tony to do better. He should know better than to bait Tony Stark.

“My whole bed is wet,” Clint continues, looking down at himself as if he still cannot believe what has happened.

Tony clicks his tongue. “You usually sleep in your nest in the cupboard anyway.”

Just as he thought, Clint’s head whips up, looking first at him then at the cupboard with instant suspicion. Tony has not hidden another trap in Clint’s room, but it is entirely all right with him if Clint thinks he has.

“Did you do something to that too?”

Now, Tony does laugh. “Do I need to?”

Eyes narrowed, Clint shakes his head, making drops fly from his hair. “Just you wait, Stark.”

Tony has no doubt that Clint is already plotting his revenge and he should tread carefully. That is part of the fun, though.

“Perhaps you should change your clothes first,” Tony taunts, unable to help himself, “or you’ll drip all over the floor. The cleaning bots don’t like that. And you don’t want to get on _their_ naughty list.”

Clint growls something inaudible but stalks off towards his bathroom without further threats. They have run out of those fairly quickly, preferring to rely on actions to prove their seriousness.

Satisfied, Tony turns around ready to keep working, when he is reminded that Bruce is present and has witnessed the whole thing.

“What is going on?” Bruce asks, looking at Tony with disapproval. Behind that, though, Tony thinks he can see definite signs of amusement.

“Nothing serious,” he promises. “Clint and I have a bet going, but we have mutually decided to not use lethal methods”

For a moment, it looks like Bruce is going to ask more, and Tony would love nothing more than to rope him in. Alone, he is already near-unbeatable. With Bruce, he would turn this into a spectacle the entirety of New York would never forget.

Sadly, though, Bruce usually follows his common sense. “Just don’t kill each other.”

“That’s what non-lethal means, genius.” Tony grins but does not push. “Now, let’s get back to work.”

* * *

A week later, an explosion has the floor trembling and shortly after that, alarms are shaking the walls. They are different from the Avengers alarm, and yet everybody in the living room sits perfectly straight immediately, ready to throw themselves into the action.

Tony looks up lazily from the tablet he has been working on, registering the faces around him and, more so, that Clint is missing from the group. A smile tugs on his lips.

“No worries,” he says, getting slowly to his feet. “That’s the workshop alarm. I guess one of my experiments went wrong.”

It probably says a lot that the Avengers actually relax at that. Steve looks at him with vague worry, but no one looks eager for a fight anymore. Explosions have become too common an occurrence for them to still be unsettled by it. That gives Tony, who knows exactly that he has not left anything prone to blow up unattended when he left for dinner, to deal with what he guesses is another intrusion attempt from Clint.

As soon as he is in the elevator, he asks for a status update from JARVIS.

“Agent Barton has just attempted to blow his way into the workshop.”

That is surprisingly unsubtle. After weeks of sneaking and little bits of progress here and there, it seems wrong for Clint to attempt something as pedestrian as bombs. Especially since that is one of the first things Tony guarded his workshop against, considering the kind of work he gets up to in there.

“From the vents?” Tony asks for clarification.

“Yes,” JARVIS answers promptly, echoing Tony’s incredulity. Attempting to blow himself a way in from such a limited space as the vents is – such a Clint thing to do, really. “He did not get in.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Tony snorts, never having doubted his security measures. “Is he all right?”

If Clint were seriously harmed, JARVIS would have led with that. Still, they are friends now, and Tony cares for them, although he does not often admit that openly.

“I shielded him from the worst of it,” JARVIS reports. “His newly regrown eyebrows have been singed off again, however.”

“Pity,” Tony comments immediately, openly showing his grin. In the privacy of the elevator, nobody can scold him for that. “This is excellent news nonetheless. Close the cage.”

“Cage is closed.” If JARVIS had eyes, he surely would have rolled them at Tony now. He does not need to be reminded of such clear tasks. “I will monitor Agent Barton’s progress.”

Instead of going to the workshop, Tony directs the elevator to Clint’s floor and makes his way to the bedroom. There, he gets comfortable on the bed and waits.

_The cage_ means that all entrances to the ventilation system are closed off, SHIELD agent and circus brat proof. If Clint thinks he can escape that without Tony’s approval, he will have a rude awakening.

Tony waits for the better part of an hour. If he were not eager to see Clint’s face when he arrives here, he probably would have lost patience long ago. For that exact reason, he does not ask JARVIS where Clint is or when he is expected to arrive. Not knowing when it will happen makes it easier to wait. Also, Tony wants to see whether he can notice Clint coming.

It turns out that he cannot. There is no sound and no other sign that heralds Clint’s arrival. From one moment to the next, the flap gets torn open and Clint glares down at Tony through the bars making his escape impossible.

Before Tony can say anything, any of the gloating greetings he has prepared, Clint calls, “I give up.”

It comes so unexpected that the words do not register with Tony for a full minute. Then he blinks, full of disbelief. “You don’t.”

Clint’s face is grim. The usual mischief and cunning are absent. He does not look angry either, but that is perhaps still coming.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Clint warns but then does it anyway. “You’ve won, Stark. Do you know how loud an explosion is in a place like air vents?”

If Clint has any brain cells left, he will have at least turned off his hearing aids beforehand and covered his ears.

“The thought might have crossed my mind,” Tony says slowly, desperately trying to gauge what is happening.

Clint does not give up. Ever. Not even when there are worse possible repercussion than simply losing a bet against Tony.

“So, yes, I’m done,” Clint says nonetheless, holding onto his nonsense. “One day, you might forget that I’m not a supersoldier or a god.”

Snorting, Tony shakes his head but keeps a close eye on Clint. Perhaps the explosion has done more damage than he thought, despite JARVIS’ scan. “I’m not in the habit of forgetting things.”

Clint bares his teeth at him – the effect of which is made worse by the bars separating them. “Apart from basic human needs like eating or sleeping or letting someone check your wounds after a battle,” he says, full of sarcasm.

“That’s not –” Tony argues but cuts himself off with a shrug. “Well, it’s not completely true.”

“Right, you only forget that when it’s about you.” Clint rolls his eyes. His missing eyebrows make that look comical, but Tony is not in the mood for laughing. “Anyway, it was fun while it lasted.”

“It – was,” Tony says slowly, wondering what he is missing.

“Right,” Clint announces and vanishes back into the ventilation system. A second later, his echoing voice adds, “See ya later, Stark.”

Confused, Tony walks back to his workshop. Clint is not one to give up, not even under threat of bodily harm. Something is up, he _knows_ it. The victory, if there ever was one, tastes bitter on his tongue.

“Lockdown, J,” Tony says, relishing the safety of the workshop turning into his personal panic room with just one word from him.

Something is different, though. He cannot pinpoint what, but something is not right. Walking over to his desk, he looks at the mess of sketches and papers, seemingly unchanged from how he left them.

Following his instincts, he looks through the stacks, looking for clues since he is lacking any specific evidence. There. A small piece of paper falls into his hand. On it is a sketch of a bow and several arrow designs in addition to several notes and descriptions that are definitely not made in Tony’s handwriting.

Underneath all of that is written,

_Since you’re successfully keeping my bow hidden, here’s what I’d like. Thanks. _

_P.S. I count this as a victory._

Unable to help himself, Tony laughs. So much for Clint not having come into the workshop. If anything, the explosion must have been a distraction after the fact. Clint’s endurance has to be admired.

Staring at the piece of paper, Tony sees the crude sketch coming to life inside his mind.

“JARVIS,” he says, turning towards the screen, “I’d say the war is not over, but I think Legolas deserves a little present to keep his motivation up. Let’s get to work.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
